


I Might Get To Too Much Talking

by threemeows



Series: Wild Horses [1]
Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: 5 B.C. - before children, F/M, What even is my life, i haven't written anything in 5 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threemeows/pseuds/threemeows
Summary: I might have to tell you something.(because there needs to be 2537 iterations of the lock screen photo and various other shenanigans)





	I Might Get To Too Much Talking

**Author's Note:**

> I literally haven't written anything in five years, and yet, here I am. Haha. HA. HA. D-: AND I STILL CAN'T WRITE SUMMARIES OR COME UP WITH GREAT TITLES WTF.
> 
> For Anj, I guess? BECAUSE ANJ.

It hits him after dinner with Mom.

 

Peter’s just got back from dropping Lara Jean off at home. For some reason, he’s too antsy to just go and sleep. And forget about doing any homework. So he flops down on his bed and pops in his earbuds, listens to some music to decompress. He’s not really paying attention to the song, drumming the beat on his chest with his fingertips idly and staring at the ceiling.

 

Mom knocks on the door. “Hey,” she says, leaning against the jamb.

 

Peter takes one bud out and lifts his eyebrows. He recognizes the _I want to talk_ stance. “Yo.”

 

“Was she okay?  I’m so sorry about that comment about her mom.  You did tell me, I just totally –”

 

Eeesh. It was a mistake, and mortifying – he was really worried Covey would be upset – but he didn’t – and doesn’t – want Mom tying herself up in knots over it, either. “Nah, yeah.  She’s cool.  She really is.  Told me herself.”

 

“Okay, that’s good.” Mom pauses, then ventures, “She’s a nice girl. I like her.”

 

If she’d said that a month ago - hell, if she said that this morning, he probably would’ve rolled his eyes, sighed, “ _MoOOom_.” Maybe even made some cutting remark about Gen - he can’t ever remember Mom saying something, anything, mean or complimentary or otherwise, about Gen.

 

But he really can’t think of anything to say, not after that dinner, where he watched Covey land gracefully on her feet after Mom’s fumble - when she told him something she never told anyone else before. When he told her stuff that he’s never told anyone before.

 

(No, that’s not true. He’s told Gen. Gen knows. Gen held his hand and hugged him and told him everything would be okay and he appreciated it ... But ... Gen never seemed to _get_ it.)

 

So he says the only thing that comes to his mind, another truth on this unexpected night.

 

“Thanks. I ... uh, like her too.”

 

Mom smiles softly at him, but there’s a teasing smirk at the corner of her lip he doesn’t like.

 

Okay, now he’ll do it. “Mom.”

 

“Nothing, I said nothing,” she says, hands up, as she starts to walk away.

 

“ _Mom_!”

 

“’Night, Petey.”

 

Peter throws his pillow at her, right in the face. “Sons!” she mocks, hurling it back at him – she played softball in college.

 

“Mothers!” he shoots back, but grins at her. “G’night.”

 

He tosses around in bed for a bit. Gives up and scrolls through his Insta feed. Notices Little LJ’s just posted a selfie of herself and Lara Jean with a puppy filter. Lara Jean’s commented below - _Closest you’ll get to the real thing, sis._ Kitty’s replied with a sad face emoji and prayer hands.

 

Peter chuckles but then falls down the rabbit hole of Lara Jean’s Instagram - lots of shots of her baking projects ( _Damn, why didn’t she give me a piece of those pumpkin spiced cupcakes? Untoward Covey!_ ), some selfies with herself and Chris ( _ugh_ ), the occasional OOTD post (he smiles when he sees those boots in one of them) - but nothing of him. Not even when Greg left a comment on her most recent cupcake post - _Largie!!! You feeding this to PK on a regular basis? Lucky dude._

 

No reply, no heart or laughing face emoji. She didn’t even like it. And it was from five days ago.

 

This shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

 

He plugs his phone in to charge for the night. Briefly picks it up again, considers texting Lara Jean something - anything - a dig about the lack of Instagram love, maybe. Or something less desperate, like some tweak about her face getting stuck in permanent puppy filter mode if she’s not careful.

 

But then he remembers the look on her face when she was talking about her mom, how she looked at him when she said the realest thing about him and being mad at his dad - and he thinks, No. That’s the punk ass way out.

 

He tears a piece of paper out from his chem notebook, grabs a pen. It doesn’t take him long to write the note -

 

_It’s so cool we can talk to each other about real stuff._

 

He folds it neatly in half, on top of the chem notebook. He’ll give it to Covey tomorrow - slip it in her locker, or just before homeroom, where no one else will see, not even Gen.

 

It’ll just be for them, like tonight was.

 

*

 

There’s nothing in the contract about Lara Jean being obligated to attend Peter’s lacrosse practices, but she tells herself she needs the ride home. And she might as well do homework on the bleachers while she’s at it. The sun in shining, it’s breezy but not too cold, just the right level of crisp fall. The sounds of Coach shouting, the boys yelling at each other – claps and cheers from other onlookers and other scrimmages going on the surrounding fields serve as nice background noise for History reading. She’ll look up and see Peter running around and pause only sometimes to admire the way he moves across the field. During a lull, he looks up and lifts his arm.

 

She waves back, a sudden lurch in her chest that she stamps down desperately.

 

Two birds, one stone. Right?

 

“Do you mind if we pick up Kitty from Brielle’s?” she asks when he’s out of the showers.

 

“Yeah, ‘course.” He slings his duffel bag of gear over his shoulder - drapes his free arm over her shoulders as they walk slowly to the parking lot. He nods bye to the guys, she texts Kitty that they’re on their way.

 

_Tell Peter I saved him some Yakult._

 

“Kitty says she saved you a Korean yogurt smoothie,” Lara Jean reports idly, brushing some hair out of her eyes. She doubts he’ll know what she’s talking about if she uses the actual name.

 

“Awesome. That’s my girl.”

 

Lara Jean snorts. He lets go to open the trunk of his Jeep and put his gear away and she slips into the passenger seat.

 

“You guys doing anything tonight?” he asks conversationally as they pull out of the lot.

 

“Maybe baking. Thinking of a new chocolate chip muffin recipe. Pumpkin for the season.”

 

“Can I be your test subject?”

 

Automatically, before she can stop herself - before she even realizes stopping is an option - she says, “‘Course.”

 

“Cool.”

 

They’re silent the rest of the way to Brielle’s. Lara Jean chews on her lip and watches the cars and houses pass her by, the changing colors of the leaves. He doesn’t need to ask for directions, because he’s been to pick up Kitty from Brielle’s before. Three times.

 

This - whatever this is - is all so ... too ... normal.

 

Easy.

 

Peter pulls into Brielle’s driveway and honks the horn. Kitty comes flying out of the front door in an instant - she never used to do that when it was Margot coming to pick her up - her pigtail ribbons streaming behind her like two yellow banners.

 

“You’re a life saver,” Peter says as she clambers into the backseat and passes him the bottle.

 

“Duh. Are you staying over for dinner?”

 

Peter eyes questioningly at Lara Jean as he guzzles the drink down. She should say no.

 

But somehow, she’s smiling over her shoulder at Kitty.

 

“If your dad says it’s cool,” Peter says, putting the empty bottle in the middle console.

 

“He will,” Kitty says with authority.

 

Peter backs out of the driveway. When he shifts gears back to drive, his hand brushes Lara Jean’s.

 

She doesn’t pull away - there’s no one around but Kitty, no witnesses to report back to Gen - but still.

 

His pinky curls round hers, ever so slightly.

 

She settles back in the seat, looking at him sidelong through her lashes. He’s paying attention to the road, nonchalantly tapping on the wheel with his finger. Everything so easy, so calm. Like his heart isn’t racing. Like hers is.

 

_Pretend._

 

His pinky stays linked with hers the whole drive home.

 

*

 

Does it count as a fight if you’re not actually dating?

 

Maybe. She’s all keyed up, pacing. Thinking about how annoyed he looked when he mentioned Instagram.

 

 _Margot_! She just doesn’t want Margot to know. That’s all.

 

It’s not like she doesn’t want to look at his face on her feed, a constant reminder of how screwed up everything is, spiraling towards this weird, strange, (exciting? awful?) inevitably.

 

All she knows is that she might die if she has to watch him ski off into the sunset and get back with Gen. Legit just fall down into the snow-spread eagle-die.

 

Or if she tells him to his face that she likes him. Really likes him.

 

(Or if he says it back.)

 

Her phone buzzes. Chris.

 

_Why is PK texting me about going 2 the ski trip?_

 

Lara Jean’s heart does a slow, sinking somersault. She didn’t actually think he’d try and get Chris to come. What is he even doing.

 

 _Just ignore him_ , she texts back after her fingers stop shaking.

 

_Yeah, but why?_

_Idk. Just trust me._

 

The phone buzzes again and she nearly snaps at Chris until she sees it’s Peter.

 

_Movie night at my place???_

 

All she can think is - Why? They fought. He still wants to do this, make Gen jealous and get back with her and Lara Jean can’t - she can’t do this anymore. She’s too ( _scared_ ) ...

 

So she doesn’t answer.

 

After a while he texts again - _C’mon Covey. Aliens???_

 

They’d watched the first one last week so technically it’s her choice and it frightened the ever living daylights out of her. She’d watched it through her fingers and jumped every few seconds and grabbed his arm so tight he’d slapped her fingers away at one point. He’d laughed at her the entire time, the _ass_ , so she knows he’s teasing her now.

 

 _No way_ , she texts back. _Not after last week Kavinsky._ It’s too easy, slipping into this now familiar habit of taunting.

 

_Come ON. You know you love Sigourney!!!_

 

_NO and it’s my turn anyway._

 

He doesn’t reply for a while. She’s started to brush her teeth when he finally does.

 

_Well Aliens 2 is kinda like a romance._

 

She splutters toothpaste all over her mirror. _Between what? Sigourney Weaver and what did you call it? The facehugger?_

 

_I’m serious! She meets the guy from Terminator. It’s a thing. You’ll love it trust me._

 

_She meets ARNOLD?!!!!_

 

His reply is several lines of the slapping forehead emoji.

 

_COVEY!!! I’m coming to get you._

She could say no. It’s late. She’s tired. She has a ton of excuses, all of them good. Her thumbs hover over her phone. And against her better judgment – like how everything is with her and Peter Kavinsky – she texts back:

 

_OK._

Celebration emojis abound.

 

*

 

He doesn’t know how in the world he convinced her to watch _Aliens_ but he did, she’s here. So what if Owen’s also on the other side of him, trying desperately not to rock back and forth in his seat as the Marines make their way deeper into the hive?

 

“This is bad. This is really bad,” Lara Jean mumbles through her hands. “Ugh why do they always go into the dark? Whyyyy.”

 

“I can always shut it off.”

 

“NO!” Owen yells, although he half looks like he wants him to.

 

“You sure?” Peter teases. Owen gulps and nods frantically, transfixed.

 

Both of them jump when the Marines discover the cocooned colonist, who promptly starts convulsing. Owen grimaces, Lara Jean buries her face in Peter’s shoulder (which _yeah_ was no small part of the reason why he wanted to watch the sequel in the first place).

 

“Oh thank god,” Lara Jean breathes when the Marines light the twitching alien on fire.

 

“Too intense,” Owen agrees.

 

Peter grins to himself, knowing what comes next. He snakes his hand out behind Owen’s head. The first alien unfurls itself behind an unsuspecting Marine . . . Peter bides him time . . . and just as it snatches its victim, he wiggles his fingers into Owen’s neck, hissing.

 

Chaos erupts on both the TV screen and in the den. The Marines scream and fight for their lives against an alien horde, Owen shrieks at an ear-drum piercing level and falls to the floor, Lara Jean screams and jumps about ten feet high, knocking the bowl of Doritos out of Peter’s lap.

 

Peter just cracks up.

 

“You _fucker_!!!” Owen hollers, launching himself at Peter and throwing punches.

 

Peter, breathless with laughter, easily deflects his little brother’s fists and feet. “Your _face_! Oh my god! Haha. I wished I filmed that! Hey! _OW_!”

 

Lara Jean is half hysterical, curled on her corner of the couch, hiccupping and laughing and coughing all at once. Everybody clams up when the door to the den slams open.

 

“What is going on - Peter!!! Is that _Aliens_?!” Mom yells.

 

Peter cringes and scrambles for the remote, shutting off the TV.

 

“You, bed,” she says, pointing sternly at Owen. “You - if that gives him nightmares tonight -“

 

“Er, sorry Mom,” he says sheepishly, scrambling to pick up the spilled Doritos with Lara Jean.

 

Mom gives him another glare before following Owen out of the den. “Have you lost your _mind_?” she hisses, smacking him lightly upside the head.

 

“But _Mom_ we just got to the good part –”

 

“Make sure Lara Jean gets back home okay,” Mom calls over her shoulder. “Have a good night, you two.”

 

“Thanks Mrs. Kavinsky,” Lara Jean says, politely. She hiccups and they catch eyes and crack up again.

 

As they toss the Doritos back into the bowl, Peter checks his cell phone. Chris still hasn’t texted him back which he knows is bullshit because he saw the .... immediately after his last text. He quickly thumbs into the phone -

 

_Just go on the ski trip. It’s for your girl!!!_

 

This time she answers straight away.

 

_Yup that’s right she’s my girl. As in I don’t do YOU any favors PK. Oink oink._

 

Ugh. This chick.

 

Giving up for tonight (ten texts is his limit), he tosses his cell on the ottoman and stretches out on the couch. Lara Jean stands up, awkwardly rubbing her arms.

 

“I should go,” she says, nodding towards the den door.

 

“What? Are you kidding me? We haven’t even gotten to the awesome parts yet!”

 

“You called that last scene awesome and that was in no way awesome!”

 

“Awesomely gross!”

 

Lara Jean bursts out laughing despite herself - he grins. She looks so adorable when she laughs. “You said there would be a meet cute.”

 

“It already happened. Pay attention Covey! I thought you lived for this stuff.”

 

“That wasn’t it. He just looked at her. Was that all of it?”

 

“No of course not. Slow burn right?”

 

She shakes her head wonderingly at him and makes a scooching motion with her hands. He sits up obligingly and plops back down.

 

“This better be worth it, Kavinsky,” she says, settling deeper into the flowered cushions.

 

He bumps her shoulder with his, but she doesn’t move away.

 

There are still dicey moments, more intense than actual jump scares though. Lara Jean hugs a pillow tight to her chest but doesn’t watch through her fingers. It makes her cuddle closer to him, so that it’s all together natural that he has his left arm over her shoulders. She’s scared, so of course he’d help her out.

 

Sigourney Weaver is trying to convince the Marines to nuke the site and Lara Jean is nodding along muttering sagely, “Yes kill them all.” Suddenly she turns to him, eyes alight. “This is why I hate scary action movies. Almost none of the characters do anything sensible.”

 

Peter huffs. “Oh like romcoms?! The characters never talk to each other! 99% of the conflict would be resolved if they just said ‘Hey, let’s cut the bullshit, I like you.’”

 

“Not the same thing. At all!” Lara Jean says primly, turning her nose up at him.

 

Peter chuckles, but suddenly he thinks he should take his own advice. He’d bungled it this morning - he should’ve just said it all out right. But he’d been too pissed off thanks to Gen and her sudden declaration that she _might_ be single, and then he saw Covey talking with Sanderson - that greasy little jackass - and suddenly that tiny, unbidden thought that had been eating at him for several weeks came surging out ...

 

_She still likes him._

 

He doesn’t know why. What kind of creep would go after the little sister of his ex anyway? And, like, _objectively_ there is no way Sanderson’s better looking than him. Objectively.

 

But childhood romances are a tough thing to shake. He would know.

 

So he’d pivoted. Made it all about her spying on him and Gen. About Instagram (okay, so it kinda was about Instagram too). About the ski trip. Which - yeah. Of _course_ she has to come. He’s already commandeered (well, bribed) Kitty to take him to the Korean grocery store across town next weekend. The shopping list is saved in his phone’s “to do.” And he’s working on the note he’s going to give to her on the bus with the Yakult.

 

Yeah he knows she doesn’t read the notes, it’s really apparent she never reads the notes. Otherwise she would’ve said something about them by now. Like the one he gave to her after dinner with Mom. Or the latest one – the one from after practice.

 

Coach had started going off on Darrell and everybody was waiting for the tirade to end when Peter had looked up and saw her on the bleachers, waiting (for him?) in a fuzzy blue sweater, the afternoon sun limning her hair in dark bronze. The wind kicked up and her hair flew everywhere and suddenly he forgot to breathe. She caught him looking and like an idiot he waved. And like an idiot, after he’d worked up the courage to hold her hand for real this time (okay, sorta), after they’d gone back to her house – after a baking marathon with her and Kitty and after dinner with her dad – he’d slipped the note into her backpack, hastily written but no less true.

 

_You looked so pretty today._

 

And nope. Nothing.

 

But on the ski trip, he’ll hold open this note – right under her nose if he has to.

 

So she has to come.

 

Peter picks up his cell phone again. _CHRIS!!!!_

 

*

 

There’s a light flashing in his eye.

 

Peter stirs, confused. The warm, heavy - _teddy bear? what?_ \- half on top of him moves, mumbles. He gets a whiff of coconut and suddenly he sees Lara Jean lift her head off his chest. They blink at each other.

 

There’s one, single, insane moment where he thinks what happened to that rerun of the Kardashians they put on after _Aliens_ , but then she whispers, “Hi.” Her eyes are half-lidded and luminous in the dull glow of the TV.

 

“Hey.” His voice is gravelly. He’s too busy staring at her bottom lip, stuck between her teeth.

 

The light flashes again, followed by a snicker.

 

“OWEN!!!!” Peter realizes, launching upwards so fast Lara Jean nearly goes hurtling onto the floor.

 

“That’s for getting me in trouble with Mom!” Owen says, dashing around the couch as Peter tries to snatch his phone from him.

 

“You wanted to watch _Aliens_!”

 

“ _You_ should’ve known better!”

 

“You little bas -“

 

Lara Jean intercedes, grabs the phone easily from Owen - he’s too shy to act like a punk directly to her. She hands it back to Peter like it’s on fire. “I better go,” she says, grabbing her backpack. “It’s close to curfew.”

 

“You’re a dead man,” Peter vows as they walk out of the den.

 

“NYAH!!!” Owen shouts after him, sticking out his tongue.

 

They’re quiet on the drive back to her house. It’s like a wall came up again. He could kill his little brother.

 

Peter clears his throat. “Um - sorry about that. He’s a cool kid but he can be - “

 

“I get it. I have Kitty remember?” she says, wryly.

 

“Yeah, but Kitty would never -“ he stops at Lara Jean’s look. “Yeah, she totally would,” he admits, chuckling.

 

“Count yourself lucky. She would’ve drawn mustaches on our faces with a Sharpie.”

 

They both laugh.

 

He pulls up to her house. He can see Dr. Covey’s bedroom light is still on. They have a few minutes before her curfew hits. The air is thick with their silence.

 

He could say it now. He should say it now.

 

“So was it at least a nice picture?” Lara Jean asks suddenly.

 

“Um ...” Not what he was expecting. He digs into his jeans pocket, brings it up on his phone. The latest one is a blurred mess. The one right before that though ...

 

He texts it over to her.

 

Lara Jean looks at her phone in silence. She fiddles with a strand of her hair. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah.” Peter licks his lips. For all the calm, easy assurance, he’s suddenly at a loss. The notes about what he’s trying to say, yet knowing she’ll never read them – his insistence on the ski trip, on holding her to this dumbass contract – he’s a coward, and he knows it. Because if she ups and runs and leaves him in the dust like . . . like Gen, like Dad . . . then . . .

 

“Night, Peter Kavinsky,” she says, with that soft, quiet smile he’s beginning to think – hope? – is for him.

 

“Night, Covey,” he smiles back.

 

He waits until she’s inside the house, when he can see her shadow wave at him from the door. At a red light on the way home, he thumps the back of his head against the headrest of his seat, huffing out a rueful laugh.

 

Ski trip it is, then.

 

And if it doesn’t work out, maybe he can drown himself in the hot tub there.

 

*

 

It takes her a few days to summon up the courage to actually put _that_ photo up as her lock screen.

 

She can tell herself it’s another type of pretending. Pretending this will last. Pretending that this thing - it won’t go anywhere. She can stay in that photo, that moment – where everything was perfect, and quiet, and easy, just the steady rhythm and warmth of his chest, his heartbeat, underneath her cheek – forever. Never going anywhere.

 

Never going forward, either.

 

But sometimes – all the time – she allows herself to think about the possibilities. Another form of pretend, maybe. What if she went. What if she sits next to him on the bus, talks with him the entire time, watches stupid YouTube vids on her phone while sharing earbuds? What if they go and sit by a cozy fireplace and laugh about what happened in Chem with Gabe, or debate over romcoms and action flicks?

 

What if she could fall asleep on his chest again, feel his lips on her forehead right before she nods off?

 

(She’s not so sure she didn’t imagine that.)

 

But then she’ll walk through the halls, check her phone – sees her lock screen and smiles a private smile to herself, a real smile – and she’ll look up and see Gen glaring at her from the side of her locker door, snake-eyed. Waiting.

 

And suddenly she’ll be tired. Of Peter ribbing her about going on the trip – a text every day now, some stupid crap about contracts and _Fight Club_ – of Chris texting her about why he keeps bugging _her_ – and Lara Jean? Is just tired. Just. Rip the bandage off. Pick the scab.

 

But then she lets Chris get to her, and Dad. She goes on the stupid ski trip, tries to keep her distance, protect herself. And yet of course. Of course. All hell breaks loose.

 

-End-

 

 

 


End file.
